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His voice bit. ‘To make sure that Carrie’s wedding, however ill-advised I may think it, goes ahead, unhindered and unhampered by any dramatic revelations from you, darling.’
His eyes were hard. ‘You see, Rhianna, I just don’t think you can be trusted. I think you spell trouble in every line of that delectable body that you use to such effect. But what finally tipped the scales against you was when I caught you parading yourself in front of the mirror yesterday—taking advantage of Carrie’s momentary absence to see how her wedding dress and veil would look if you were wearing them instead of her.’
Rhianna felt the colour drain from her face. ‘So it was you,’ she said. ‘I thought I heard someone.’
His mouth curled. ‘Unfortunately for you—yes. I could hardly believe what I was seeing. Dear God, you’d only been in the house five minutes and already you were pretending to be the bride. Imagining yourself taking her place. And who could guarantee you might be not be tempted to turn your pathetic little fantasy into reality?’
She said hoarsely, ‘Diaz—you have to let me explain…’
‘Not necessary,’ he said. ‘You see, I came back a little later to tell you—warn you that I’d seen you—and tell you for the last time to go. Only I discovered that you were otherwise engaged, talking to bloody Simon.’
She said thickly, ‘And you listened?’
‘Wild horses wouldn’t have dragged me away,’ he returned harshly. ‘It was—most revealing. Everything finally made a kind of sick sense.’
He looked at her with contempt. ‘I don’t know if being pregnant by the bridegroom is the kind of “just impediment” the Church was thinking of when it wrote the marriage service, but I sure as hell wasn’t planning to find out. I couldn’t risk you staging some hysterical last-minute confession scene, Rhianna, some touching plea for your unborn child. So I decided it would be better if you were removed—out of harm’s way. And, ironically, Simon’s ghastly mother supplied me with the means.’
‘How fortunate for you,’ she said hoarsely. ‘And if she hadn’t?’
‘I’d have found some other way.’ He gave her a cynical look. ‘And you won’t be gone for too long,’ he added. ‘Not enough to jeopardise your abortion plans anyway. I presume there’s an appointment already booked?’
‘Yes,’ she said. It was difficult to speak evenly. ‘As it happens, there is.’
‘Good,’ he said. ‘Always best to keep things neat and tidy. Although even if Simon had been free to marry you I can’t imagine you wanting to have the child,’ he went on. ‘After all, nothing must impede your precious career, and a pregnant Lady Ariadne would never do.’
‘Totally out of character, I agree.’ She lifted her brows, fighting the pain that raked her. ‘I didn’t realise you were such a fan.’
‘I’m not,’ he said. ‘I simply found it—instructive. To see what you’ve become.’
‘I’ve become a highly paid professional actor,’ she said stonily. ‘I’m not ashamed of that. But my screen persona and my private life are leagues apart, whatever you may want to believe. And forget that garbage about the casting couch too. I don’t go in for casual sex. As you would have found out, Mr Penvarnon, dinner is one thing, but I’d have to love a man before I slept with him.’
She saw his jaw muscles clench and braced herself for anger, but when he spoke his voice was cool.
‘Then let me put your mind at rest,’ he said. ‘The term “advance honeymoon” was only a figure of speech. I wouldn’t really want Simon Rawlins’ leavings.’
‘I’m sure,’ she said. ‘But I still have a problem. As you’ve already noticed, I’m pretty recognisable, and if we’re seen together—in Spain, France, or anywhere else—the obvious conclusions will be drawn.’
‘Maybe,’ he said. ‘But when we resume our totally separate lives they’ll have to think again.’
‘And I know what they’ll think,’ she said curtly. ‘That I’m your discarded mistress. You talked about potential headlines earlier. Well, I can see these now: “Ariadne dumped.” “Millionaire turns down TV’s Sex Siren.” I don’t court bad publicity. I can’t afford to. And I shouldn’t think you want it either.’
She paused. ‘Especially if people start digging around, unearthing old scandals. How long, do you think, before that nasty little man from the Duchy Herald is told gloatingly by someone that my mother was your father’s mistress? That she betrayed a sick woman who trusted her, and destroyed her marriage, driving her into a nervous breakdown. Which is why Esther Penvarnon lives in widowed exile to this day—because it’s too painful for her to return.’
